


Witch Doctor

by DrabblingSparks (ingenious_spark)



Series: Silmarillion prompts & short fic [13]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Drabble, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Magic, Prompt Fic, Reincarnation, Witchcraft, post Dagor Dagorath, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22054138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingenious_spark/pseuds/DrabblingSparks
Summary: Glorfindel goes into the mire seeking the witch who lives there, not knowing what to expect.
Relationships: Finrod Felegund | Findarato/Glorfindel
Series: Silmarillion prompts & short fic [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1026144
Kudos: 5





	Witch Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> From a list of prompts over on my tumblr, [@oopsbirdficced](http://oopsbirdficced.tumblr.com).
> 
> Look don’t ask me what the setting for this is, I have no idea. Possibly early modern/post Dagor Dagorath/new world shenanigans, you pick.

Glorfindel was going to see the witch who lived the swamp for very important reasons. Not, as Ecthelion had jokingly submitted, for love spells. He knew better than to bother a witch as ancient and powerful as the one who lived in the swamp for such trivial reasons. After all, it was said the witch was the ancient monarch of a now forgotten (destroyed?) kingdom. Or a werewolf. Or both, possibly.

He was going to see the witch who lived in the swamp because his elder sister was sick, and did not seem to be getting better. Celebmund wouldn’t want him doing this, but at this point he didn’t care. 

He was thankful for his tall boots as he trudged through the muck, lantern raised high against the threatening vague mist that swirled around his hips. He breathed steadily, though his heart was pounding the further into the swamp he ventured. 

His feet found dryer land, and it felt right to follow it, like a wending pathway. Glorfindel was now thoroughly lost, and that didn’t help his shrieking nerves. 

“Who goes there?” The voice was sourceless, coming from deep within the mist. The voice sounded deeper than he was expecting- did the witch have companions? 

“I am Glorfindel, and I seek the witch who lives here. I must ask a boon of you. I have payment.” He said in a clear, carrying voice. Despite how he spoke, the fog, risen high and enveloping him now in a wet cloak that smelled of earth and rotting plant matter, swallowed his voice. It fell dull on his own ears, as if he was just talking to himself. 

“You seek the witch, do you?” The voice sounded amused. “You must know that gold will buy no favors.” Glorfindel fingered the strap of his pack, feeling deeply grateful for his own foresight, and for Ecthelion’s casual questioning of whether witches really needed money.

“I have brought other treasures to barter with. Please, my sister is ill, and I know not if she will recover.” He said boldly, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. 

“What kinds of treasures?” The person sounded more interested. Glorfindel unslung his satchel and pulled free a jar of honey. 

“I’ve brought nature’s gold for one thing. Honey, from my family’s bees. I’ve dried herbs and mead as well. It is the foundation my family is built upon.” He said, nervous. What if this isn’t enough? A hand appeared from the fog, taking the jar, and he swallowed a cry of fright. The rest of the person stepped free of the fog, and Glorfindel’s mouth went dry from the sight of them. Long golden hair was braided in complex, gorgeous patterns. They were taller than a man ought to be, and their eyes seemed to gleam with inner light in the mist

“This is a treasure indeed. We may deal.” The absolutely gorgeous person agreed. “I am the witch. Tell me your sister’s symptoms.” Pale eyes flashed. “Know this though- even if all goes well, I cannot guarantee anything, especially with illness. I’m only a witch, not a miracle worker.” They said sternly. 

"Even so, you’re doing more for her than the doctors she’s seen.” He said confidently. The witch smiled at him slowly. 

“I like you, Glorfindel. I am Finrod, witch of the swamp.” He told him, and Glorfindel wondered how soft the skin of that pretty cheek would be. He caught himself, flushing slightly. “So now, your sister’s symptoms.” Finrod prompted, taking Glorfindel’s elbow and guiding him through the swamp. 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
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>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * Comments not in English
> 

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